


All Of Our Moves Make Up For The Silence

by cosipotente



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosipotente/pseuds/cosipotente
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles getting his arm broken during lacrosse practice shifted something between him, Scott, and Isaac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Of Our Moves Make Up For The Silence

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                       _turn off the lights and turn off the shyness._

 

  
  
  
Stiles, bottom lip between his teeth, works the wire end of his fly swatter beneath the fiberglass cast covering the area of his forearm just below his elbow to right under his knuckles. He wiggles it carefully from side to side in a futile attempt at abating the itch that's been building up on his skin beneath the cast for three days.

 

"Come on, get in there." Stiles mumbles, frustrated and desperate, as he pushes the handle of the swatter further under the cast—something Mrs. McCall explicitly told him not to do.

 

He can't get it to angle right though and gives up, tossing the stupid thing across his room. Stiles heaves a sigh and settles back against the fortress of pillows behind him. His cell phone slides off one of them and onto the bed. He contemplates picking it up and calling for Scott to come over and lay his werewolf hands on him, but he doesn't turn the thought into action and leaves his phone where it lays.

 

Stiles getting his arm broken during lacrosse practice shifted something between him, Scott, and Isaac. It was entirely accidental, his arm being fractured, Greenberg just happened to take Stiles down with too much force and Stiles just didn't brace himself in the way he should have.

 

Nevertheless, the fall and the popping of broken bone, unravels the already loosened fabric of his and Scott's friendship.  

 

Scott did nothing to help Stiles as he lay on the field, cradling his arm in agony as Finstock shouted for someone to get the nurse and principal. Scott just stared down at Stiles, shell shocked and gaping, like Scott had been the one with a fractured bone. It had been an accident, a mundane, <i>human</i> accident, not some epic supernatural, life or death, brawl, but Scott did nothing.

 

It was Isaac who carried Stiles off the field. Isaac who held his hand to keep some of the pain at bay in the ER waiting room. Which was nice, Isaac has nice hands, nice everything if Stiles is being honest, and his werewolf powers kick ass, but Scott should have been there rather than moping or whatever he was doing that didn't involve helping Stiles. He completely disregarded their bro code.

 

After thinking about it for a few days though, Stiles knows exactly what Scott's problem is. His injury is an unwanted reminder of the human fragility in the group, in the pack. Add to that Stiles and Scott basically being brothers, yeah, he could see why Scott is having a werewolf breakdown.

 

Stiles rolls his eyes to the ceiling as guilt rolls over him in one, big, obnoxious wave. He reaches for his cell and pecks out a quick message with his uninjured hand to send to Scott. He doesn't get a response right away—not that he was particularly expecting one to come quickly—but after an hour, and then two, and then his dad coming in to give him his round of medication with a pat to the head, Stiles tosses his phone on his nightstand. Disappointment and aggravation sit in the pit of his stomach like lead.

 

He moves around as much as possible to get comfortable, his head going fuzzy with the narcotics. Maybe it's werewolf business, he thinks, which is okay but, Stiles has been prohibited from all active pack duties until he heals—an edict handed down by Derek Hale himself. Stiles’ life is grand; benched from summer practice and sidelined from werewolf business.

 

Or he's supposed to be sidelined, except Stiles watches from half-lidded eyes as Isaac climbs through his window. It's Stiles' third night of bed rest, though sometimes it feels more like house arrest with his dad’s constant hawk-like hovering, and Isaac is the first werewolf to step into his room.

 

And Stiles doesn't mind that it's Isaac and not Scott. Isaac, for all his scathing sarcasm and psychopath vibes, is actually a pretty stand up guy; it took a lot of trial and error for Stiles to recognize that, but once he did, he and Isaac were a little closer for it.

 

Stiles keeps his eyes half-closed as he watches Isaac poke and prod at his things. The werewolf does his best to move things quietly, like he's afraid of waking Stiles up. He's kind of nice like that when he isn't being a total D-Bag. It's when Isaac reaches for a photo of Stiles and his mom, that Stiles says something.

 

"Taking creeper cues from Derek Hale's Idiot's Guide To Being Creepy?"

 

He really wants to laugh at the way Isaac jumps in place, whipping his head in Stiles' direction with wide eyes and an open mouth, but he'd rather not risk the fury of his fractured arm. He settles on a sleepy, shit-eating grin instead; Isaac is kind of a terrible werewolf.

 

Isaac rolls his eyes, composing himself, before he rolls one of Stiles' computer chairs next to the bed and takes a seat.

 

"He's good at being a creep." Isaac replies, wry humor pulling his lips into a smirk.

 

"You're telling me." Stiles mumbles deadpan.

 

The conversation dies like that and the resulting silence is somewhat comfortable. Stiles has never been alone with Isaac. Scott often invites him to hang out with him and Stiles, mostly to interrupt Derek's strict training schedule, but also because Isaac has no friends outside of the pack.

 

Stiles found it odd at first, that Isaac never hung around anyone else; he can be nice, in his own way, and if Stiles is being honest, like every werewolf in Derek's pack, Isaac is good looking. But Stiles later found out that he prefers to stick to people he already knows. Namely Scott, whom Isaac follows around like a puppy.

 

Isaac used to not hold Stiles in the same regard, but for the past few months, something has been changing between them. The biting sarcasm Isaac used to deal him has been reduced to eye rolls and put-upon sighs if Stiles says or does something he doesn't agree with. The physical violence has also changed, going from bruise-inducing to annoyingly playful; Isaac will sometimes push him softly against his locker, or appear out of nowhere to brush against Stiles in a way that cannot be construed as accidental. It's weird on every level of the weird scale, but Stiles doesn't dislike it—which Isaac probably picked up on and thus why he continues to do it.

 

And there was hand holding in the hospital when Stiles broke his arm. Or the way Stiles will sometimes catch Isaac staring for too long, and too intently, like he is now, big blue eyes focused on Stiles. Like a kid with a crush. Stiles nips that particular train of thought in the bud, because, no. Nope. It's the medicine that's sending him for a loop. Totally the drugs.

 

"So-" Stiles starts, and then stops to clear his throat. "What's up? Something supernatural this way comes?"

 

Isaac huffs out a small laugh and Stiles' stomach maybe, kind of, drops just the tiniest bit at the sound. "No, just here to check on you. Scott's still freaking about it." He shakes his head, shoulders slumping; he looks vaguely like a kicked puppy.

 

"Scott's a wiener." Stiles grumbles, and he only half means it. But really, Scott getting all freaked out over an accident is just so weird. And not all surprising, considering Scott's weiner status.

 

"He feels like he needs to constantly protect and save people, especially his people. Which includes you." Isaac intones softly.

 

And you, Stiles wants to say but he doesn't, even unspoken the words feel too awkward. too intimate to voice. Stiles rolls his eyes instead—at Scott's antics more so than at anything related to Isaac. He doesn't need Scott to be his Batman. He can take care of himself; unless, of course, Greenberg decides comes barreling at him again. Although, Isaac seems to have him covered in that arena...

 

"Scott's a sweet wiener, then." Stiles concedes, and Isaac makes an agreeing noise.

 

"So you are you though." Stiles adds, picking at his blanket with his none injured hand to avoid looking at Isaac. He can feel the embarrassment in  the air. "Thanks for, uh, carrying me and the werwolf power thing."

 

Isaac shrugs nonchalantly, there's a fidgetiness about him that hints to alludes to him being happy. Stiles has seen the reaction often enough when the other male is around Scott. Stiles feels pleasantly...something knowing it was him now making Isaac antsy.

 

"Just avoid Greenberg next time he's running toward you." Isaac says softly, but firmly; he doesn't look at Stiles as he speaks, though, staring down at Stiles' cast instead. It's a cute, demure look.

 

To distract himself from that line of thinking—which is completely because he's near stoned on meds--Stiles carefully lifts his wrapped arm a little.  "You wanna sign it?"

 

Isaac's eyes widen in surprise, but a slow forming smile tugs at his lips. Stiles' cheeks warm because the look on the other male's face is akin to one you'd see on a kid on Christmas day.

 

"Sure."

 

"There's a marker somewhere on my computer desk." Stiles says with a jut of his chin.

 

It takes Isaac a few minutes to find it, but he does, despite the chaotic clutter on Stiles' desk. Marker in hand, he makes his way back to the chair, half leaning out of it to get a good writing angle of Stiles’ cast. Isaac carefully signs his name in neat, bold letters across the top of the white mold. When Isaac finishes, he looks intently at Stiles, eyes making a slow travel down to Stiles' lips and then back up to his eyes. A strange thought comes to him suddenly, making his face burn hot.

 

Isaac marked him.

 

Stiles huffs a soft, breathy laugh. “These are some good drugs.”

 

Blue eyes go from flirtatious to curious, and maybe a bit amused, in the span of seconds, but Isaac doesn’t move back in the slightest from where he’s bent over Stiles’ arm.

 

“Oh, yeah?” He says slowly, and the smile that stretches across his face muddles Stiles’ head even more so than it already is. He suddenly thinks it’s a good idea to close the few inches between them and kiss the corner of Isaac’s mouth. He kisses more teeth than skin, but Isaac corrects the mistake, tilting his head ever so slightly and cupping Stiles’ cheek to draw him in.

 

It’s a short brush of lips and the lightest touch of tongue when Isaac licks into his mouth, but Stiles’ mouth continues to tingle with the feel of it longer after Isaac leaves. Why hadn’t they done this sooner?

 

Isaac runs his thumb across Stiles’ bottom lip once, twice, before standing up. He pushes the computer chair back to its spot across the room and then comes back to Stiles. Isaac presses a chaste kiss to Stiles’ cheek; Stiles doesn’t do much except sit with his mouth slightly parted.

 

“I’ll tell Scott to stop being a wiener.” Isaac says, moving toward the window. He’s half way out of it before he looks over his shoulder at Stiles.

 

“I’ll see you when you get better, Stilinski.” A wink is thrown in for good measure and then Isaac is gone.

 

He takes with him a sliver of Stiles’ heart.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing. Also, if it isn't obvious, the title is from Fall Out Boy's "Of All The Gin Joints In The Wold."


End file.
